Tales of the modern times
by Corporal-Nihon
Summary: Several modern-setting AU written in one shot. Rating may change depending on the chapter. First story : "Since I fell for you" Arthur, young businessman in Manhattan meets Emily Jones in a typical jazz bar. (fem!America) Reviews are love.


**Since I fell for you**

Englandxfem!America

Rating : K

In this cloudy, typical bar, underground, with a haze of smoke lingering near the ceiling, and her voice filling the heavy air, in a smooth jazzy melody, that's where they met. Well, at least, that's where he met her, because she couldn't see him, through the crowd of customers. He was not a regular one, he had just ventured there on a lonely business trip. He had time, lots of it. He had wandered in the radiant Manhattan streets. It was a hot night, and usually, he would have never come in such a crowded place. But there, somehow, the place, and the small, metallic front door had seemed attractive to him. He had gotten down the stairs. He had paid the waitress a small tip before going for a seat in the far corner of the room.

He couldn't see her well, because of the smoky atmosphere, and the distance. But she had this white dress, these blond, alluring short hair tied with a red bow, and she had this voice. Yes, this voice, smooth, deep, but incredibly charming, that got from his brain to his fingertips in a warm, shiver-like trance.

And he forgot everything he knew about England, about being a businessman, about the Queen, about these boring meetings he attended every day from early morning to late at night. The passion building inside him, inspired by this pretty little American lady –only a jazz singer, he reminded himself- overcame him, his drink left untouched. He couldn't actually remember what he ordered.

The song was called "Since I fell for you", but he would only learn about that later –he had never bothered to listen to jazz music-, perhaps when she sung it again just for him, after he shyly asked her once she was done, when she was just about to leave. She laughed and asked him if he didn't want to hear another one, but he brushed it off and insisted that he would listen to this song only, because that was _the song_. She laughed again and smiled sweetly, and she sung just for him.

And the moment was so strange, at night, in a small, dark street, with her voice floating in the air, as if it went from somewhere else, from his imagination, when it rose between the buildings, covering the distant remnants of animation in a far avenue. He stood there dumbfounded as the first time, not knowing what to do with his hands hanging down foolishly at his sides, all tight composure forgotten. It was a long moment until he finally understood she was done. He straightened up and he clapped quietly, allowing in spite of himself an entranced smile to stretch his lips. She laughed awkwardly and thanked him. She let herself relax next to him against the wall, simply watching the brick wall opposite, smiling warmly, her heart drumming in her chest. It was much more difficult to sing for just one person, standing right there before her. She sighed, her cheeks warmer than the air outside.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What's your name?" He whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet between them.

"Emily."

"And your full name?"

"Emily Jones." She grinned brightly.

"I'm Arthur… Arthur Kirkland." He added, his breath caught in his throat as he smiled up to the cloudy sky.

"You're a Brit?" She asked bluntly.

"Well… Yes, how… How do you know?"

"You have a strong accent…" She smiled up at him. "… and you wear a suit in summer."

"Ha!" He chuckled. "I have no choice. I have to do justice to my customs." They laughed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They met every time they could. At 26, he was a specialist in financial exchanges, which is indeed quite rare, and which left them busy. She was 21, a student, and had a very full timetable, between studying and working at night. They met in cafés, several times at the restaurant (Arthur being, from his job and family, quite well-off). He went to hear her sing every night he could, and they would sit at a table in the quiet of the last open hours.

Neither of them ever told the truth, that they both loved each other, even when they danced around the subject, when they knew what was going on between the two of them. Maybe they were afraid that the other would not want to settle down. Afraid, because Arthur could leave at the end of the month.

That night, just before his departure, he had treated her dinner. He had to do something, before he went away and lost her forever. But dinner was quiet, neither of them knowing how to bring up the subject. She was usually so talkative, loud and brash. Tonight, she looked like a reserved, gentle maiden. In the end, she only managed to tell him that she would skip school to come along at the airport. He scolded her, because skipping school is bad, but only half-heartedly because he knew it meant she cared for him. They were almost like a couple… Except not.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They had so much left to say. But the way in the car was awfully quiet. He just kept his eyes on the road, though his mind wandered elsewhere. He sighed when they arrived at the airport. She wanted to help him with his suitcase (what a funny girl, really). He looked at her, and even beneath all her pride and quite fit form, she was just out of her teens, and he laughed.

The events went in a blur. He registered his luggage, and they went to the controls zone. He sighed and, hesitating a bit (they had never really touched, actually), he put a kiss the top of her head, saying a long, deep goodbye. She looked up, but he had his back turned to her, and was passing the controls already. She stood dumbfounded, watching him leave. He was just putting his jacket back on (though if she was not blinded by frustration, she would have seen his hesitation), when she collected her breath, and, at the top of her lungs:

"That's how you're gonna leave me?" She yelled at him with her heavy American accent. People jumped in surprised and turned their heads. "Aren't you going to give me a proper kiss?" She said, her eyes blinded with burning tears, which she didn't want to fall.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her with wide eyes. He gulped down, and, without leaving her eyes, he found his way through the crowd until he stopped just in front of her. He awkwardly straightened his tie and looked at her straight in the eyes.

"Will you… Do you want to… I mean, it's okay if you don't, but, would you…"

"Okay, get this done with quick." She grinned at him, face flushed in anticipation.

"Do you want to be my wife?" He blurted out, with a shaky smile.

"I do, idiot." She smiled and kissed him full on the lips.

Before he could react, she had pulled back, lips and cheeks red with the realization she had just kissed for the first time and been proposed to in front of hundreds of people.

"Aren't you going to kiss me properly?" He said, jokingly, and she chuckled before they melted down into each other's arms, kissing passionately.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He eventually came back to England. But with her, and not that day.

Everything, then, was quite like before, even if they both had plans to settle down someday, perhaps in England. She had gone back to university the next day, struggling to understand the lesson with Arthur on her mind, then chatting with her friends enthusiastically about her plans (they had long heard about Arthur, even before his proposal). They met him when he went to fetch her for lunch. Arthur and Emily's friends exchanged understanding glances, before she bid them goodbye, see you in class, and they left. One of her friends even whispered that he looked really smart, and another answered it was the English way, and they all nodded.

Everything was quite like before, except that she was at Arthur's place more often than not, after the end of classes, just before she went to the bar with him, after he had come home, arm in arm.

She would sing, and he would sit by the far corner of the smoky, typical jazz bar.


End file.
